


All the Bad Guys, All the Time

by dontneedaclassroom



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontneedaclassroom/pseuds/dontneedaclassroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny knew, <em>knew</em> Five-0 would be amazing hunters, better even than his old unit back in Jersey. Being discovered by Steve in The Whole Moon (Metaphysical Books & Gifts, Mahina Sunbright, prop., Est. 1962) was not the introduction to the subject that Danny had been hoping for, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Bad Guys, All the Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



"Danny, what are -"

"Ack!" Danny instinctively dropped the armful of incriminating books and swung around. Then he stopped. "Steve?"

"Who'd you think it was gonna be?" Steve scrunched up his face. "We've got a case, remember? There's this guy working down on 10th, the sister's fiancee, but he'll be gone by three so we gotta go."

Danny was having a moment of cognitive dissonance: Steve did not belong in The Whole Moon (Metaphysical Books & Gifts, Mahina Sunbright, prop., Est. 1962). Steve was wearing a tight black t-shirt (like he needed to draw attention to his muscles), and he was leaning around the bookcase with his ass sticking out into the aisle, clearly in the mood to kick somebody in the face and crack a one-liner afterward. Normally, Danny was perfectly able to ignore Steve's sartorial, postural, and _attitudinal_ choices. However, in this case, all the other patrons in The Whole Moon were women with braids and flowing ankle-length skirts, ages approximately 13 to 73, and he could see that they were unanimously staring at Steve's ass. Distracting.

"Yeah, uh, I'll be right out, I just gotta..." Danny waved vaguely at the cashier.

Steve frowned a little, impatient, and then took a visible double-take. His whole face lit up, and Danny knew he would never, ever live this moment down.

"You need some help with your books there, Danno? Or maybe I can grab some, what, crystals, for you."

Danny pinched his nose. "No, Steve, just -"

"Potpourri?"

"No! You've been to my apartment, potpourri? Just, wait outside, okay, gimme two minutes to complete my transaction with the lovely lady behind the counter, name of Mahina, and I will be all yours for another afternoon of variable legality, alright? Two minutes, outside, let's go." He gave Steve a helpful shove in the direction of the door, ignored Steve's wounded eyes and the petulant moue of his mouth, and gathered up his books.

"New partner?" Mahina asked sympathetically. Her eyes crinkled into deep crows'-feet at the corners.

"Yeah, uh, sorry about that. He's not," with a glance at the other very interested patrons, "in the business, you know? He's a cop, so. Not really into ghost stories."

"Too bad. It's no good hunting alone. I heard you cleared up that trouble at Jake's, are you low on silver?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. I got most of it back when I cleaned up. Reduce reuse recycle, that's what I always say.”

Danny threw the bag nonchalantly into the backseat as he slid into the Camaro (passenger side again, dammit). Hoping to head Steve off, Danny went on the offensive, asking, “What does this guy do that he gets to knock off at three? Maybe it's time to consider a more lucrative career.”

“Nah, he's just got three shitty part-time jobs, nothing to aspire to. So what are you reading these days?”

“Just, seriously, none of your business. Just to head off your inevitable sulk -”

“I do not _sulk_.”

“Do you prefer the term 'whine'?” Danny asked, all reasonableness.

“I don't whine either.”

“Whatever, you don't whine? You're like a three-year-old with a gun, you bitch all the time over every little thing.”

“ _I_ bitch all the time?” Steve's eyebrows rose, incredulous.

“Yes, you do, you bitch and you _sulk_ , and so to prevent you from bitching this time, I am going to be magnanimous, Steven, and I am going to tell you why I was in there, and that is because I wanted some books about local ghost stories.”

Steve waited a beat, then glanced over at Danny, waiting for the second half, but Danny just spread his hands wide.

“That's it?” Steve asked. “Ghost stories.”

“Ghosts and monsters, yes.” Danny smirked at him.

“For... Grace?” Steve said, trying it out.

“It seems like the kind of thing she should know about her new home, sure. My library is woefully out of date. What good is a ghost story if it happened to somebody in, like, Albany, when that's fifteen hundred miles from here and anyway the ghost can't get out of the parking garage it died in?”

Steve got that weird soft smile he did whenever he thought Danny was being a really good dad. Danny let his smirk grow out into a real grin. Steve had worked so hard to get past the tangent, he'd never think to look past the explanation he invented for himself. Lying was Danny's least favorite part of his extra-curricular activities, so he was careful to tell Steve only the truth. Well, lying, or maybe the demons.

They turned the radio on.

So, whatever, the boyfriend was a scumbag barrista who, in addition to experiencing bloodthirsty jealousy and possibly clinical paranoia, was unable to draw a decent shot of espresso. Steve didn't get to resort to physical violence, but the manager did give them a refund for the cappuccinos, so the excursion was basically a wash.

They got back to HQ before 2pm. “Looks like we might get to knock off at three ourselves for once,” Danny gloated. “You see how much faster this goes when nobody gets shot?” He waved the much-thinner-than-usual packet of forms at Steve and Kono in turn.

“No, I know what we should do,” Steve said. He turned to Kono and Chin. “Danny did a little shopping at The Whole Moon over lunch today. Whaddaya say we make him share with the class?”

Kono started giggling and couldn't seem to stop. Danny felt a blush start at the tips of his ears, but for once even Chin offered no moral support – when Danny looked, Chin was grinning the widest Danny had ever seen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny said, “I see how it is, I finally show a voluntary interest in the culture and traditions of this godforsaken island and suddenly it's 'make fun of the haole' time.”

“You're claiming you went to a _new age bookstore_ to learn about Hawaiian culture?” Kono said. Shrieked. “Oh my god, Danny, that's just,” she seemed to be having trouble breathing between the laughing. Steve and Chin were laughing, too, and Danny had to admit it sounded kind of horrible when you said it out loud like that.

“Ghost stories!” Danny said. “I got some books about local _ghost stories_! They don't just have them at the 7-11, okay? You have to go to a bookstore!”

Back straight, Danny went to get a cup of coffee and escape the general hilarity.

By the time the new pot brewed and he returned to the table, Kono was regaling Chin and Steve with stories from her aunties - they had her half-convinced about ghosts already, but Chin was ready with rebuttals like sinkholes, drunken pranks, and copper pipe Faraday cages. Danny shared a couple gems from his resume, suitably obfuscated. Steve appeared to regard the afternoon as some kind of anthropological exercise, studying the storytelling habits of the common _homo sapiens civilian_. Altogether they left the office just about on time.

Danny was lonely out here, hunting without backup. Beyond that, he was taking a risk every time he went out on his own. He knew, _knew_ his team would be amazing, better even than his old unit back in Jersey. Ginny and Ahmed were the best paranormal researchers in the biz, but he felt guilty being their extra-curricular project now that he was out of their jurisdiction. Danny just needed the perfect manifestation to broach the subject with Five-0.

The invisible woman tried to take Danny's head off with an axe the following Wednesday.

Danny ducked and rolled across the rug to the tune of Steve firing off three quick shots around the corner, wild.

“Danny! Where'd she go?” Steve sounded spooked. (Pun intended, one of Danny's personal favorites.)

“No idea,” Danny answered. He spared a bare second, scrambling to his feet, to wish he'd listened to his instincts and brought some damn iron. “Well, I could explain, but you're gonna see-”

The ghost screamed and came for Danny again, straight through the ugly floral wreath above the piano, but this time he saw her coming and got a shot off. The rock salt shells always left a really satisfying smell hanging in the air. This time Steve was looking right at where she'd been, eyes wide, gun still in the ready position. The wreath listed a little to the side and fell off the wall.

“So,” Danny began, suddenly nervous, “this is why I opted for the shotgun today, because they don't like salt.”

“Danny, was that a ghost?” Steve's voice sounded a little strained.

“Yeah. They don't like iron, either, I should have given you the tire iron.” Danny motioned sharply and proceeded into the kitchen, looking for some clue as to the location of the body.

Steve followed, but didn't say anything for the longest ten seconds in Danny's recent memory. There were no incriminating photos of corpses stuck to the fridge, no helpful messages written in blood or lipstick or ice on the window above the sink. Two moldy sandwich crusts sat forlorn on cheerful yellow plates on the counter.

“Nobody's been here in at least four or five days,” Danny noted, “but they were expecting to be back quicker than this.” When in doubt, keep talking.

“The ghost looked an awful lot like Chandra D'Aoust,” Steve said.

“I think we can safely move her from the 'missing' column to 'deceased,' yeah.”

“Why did she have a hatchet?”

“That,” Danny paused, “that's actually a really good question. Maybe she was trying to defend herself. Is there a shed or something out back? Do people even chop firewood in Hawaii?”

“I thought ghosts don't like iron,” Steve said.

“Axe is probably steel, no problem.”

“What, you add a little extra carbon and they're good to go?”

“You think now is the time for a chemistry lesson?” Who was Danny kidding, with Steve it was always time for a chemistry lesson.

A flicker hooked the corner of his eye and Danny shot by reflex. Got her, no problem.

“You keep shooting her, how do you kill... put her down?” Steve was rummaging around in the cupboards. Danny couldn't see his face, but he had his Science Guy voice going now, so Danny figured they were going to be fine.

“Salt and burn, babe. Salt and burn.”

Steve emerged with a cast iron frying pan just in time to take a swing at the ghost himself. Danny grinned at him.

“I knew you'd be a natural.”

“Salt and burn... the house?” Steve sounded cautiously enthusiastic. Danny raised his hands to the sky in supplication.

“The body. Salt and burn the _body_ , Steven.”

“But we don't know where the body is, that's the whole problem.”

“No shit,” Danny said. ”We're gonna need Kono and Chin in here, I think, keep her off our backs while we search. This is perfect.”

“What do I tell them?” Steve asked. “Wait, perfect for what?”

“Whatever, they'll come.” Danny flapped a hand at Steve in encouragement, and Steve dialed with only a snort in protest.

“This is way easier during the day,” Danny commented while the phone was ringing. “That's the worst. Skulking around in graveyards or crime scenes or what have you with just a flashlight, tripping over furniture, because you can't let the neighbors see a light turned on.”

“You mean you've been – oh hey, Chin, we need you and Kono out here -”

Chandra swooped in again so Danny missed the end of the sentence in the retort of the shotgun.

“They're on their way,” Steve said pointedly to Danny. “Nah, Chin, we got it under control for now, but maybe hurry it up a little.”

“Hey, tell them to bring shotguns.”

“What about kerosene?”

“No. If we burn her before we get an autopsy, we'll never get a conviction. We're police, remember?” Danny was absolutely firm on this point – Steve tended to forget, left to his own devices. “I wanna put this asshole away for good, not just clean up his mess. We'll get her cremated after.”

Ignoring Steve's pout, Danny decided they should just wait in the driveway. Even with this new weirdness hanging between them, their exit was just as clean and coordinated as ever, and they got outside without a scratch.

“So,” Steve began. And stopped.

Danny settled his weight back against the hood of the Camaro. Steve sat next to him, brushing thighs, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He swung the frying pan absently in his left hand.

“Fighting ghosts? How long has that been going on?” Steve's voice was carefully level.

“Detective Danny Williams, Jersey City PD, Special Crimes Division.”

Steve slanted a glance at him to see if he was being mocked.

“Hawaii doesn't have anything official,” Danny continued, “I couldn't believe it. Look on the bright side though, now you can come play, too. It's a whole new world of mayhem,” Danny motioned to the house, the island, the planet. “You'll love it.”

Whatever he saw in Danny's face made the edge of Steve's mouth curl up with an answering mischief.

“Local ghost stories, huh?”

“What can I say, I miss the archive support we had back in Jersey. I gotta get my info somewhere.”

Chin and Kono pulled up behind them just then, so they went around and had a brief meeting between the two cars.

“So what's with the mini-shootout, brah?” Kono asked Danny. “You having fun without us again?”

Danny shrugged, exaggerated a little for effect. He opened the trunk of the Camaro and said, “Yeah, well, it's a bit complicated. “ Steve snorted. “You brought your shotguns?”

“Never leave home without one,” Chin said. He patted the barrel tenderly. Someday Danny would get up the courage to ask Chin if he named them.

“Good,” Danny replied, and opened the _bottom_ of the trunk of the Camaro with a broad gesture of invitation. The team crowded around.

“Unusual kit,” Chin drawled. “Very nice.”

“Holy shit, Danny, you've been holding out on us!” Kono said.

Steve stared, first at the car, then at Danny.

The cavity under the trunk (Danny refused to think of it as a “secret compartment,” that sounded like someplace a kid would keep baseball cards) held his armory. Four kinds of special ammunition (iron, silver, rock salt, hollow point), holy water, salt, lighter fluid, stakes, crosses in three kinds of wood plus silver and iron, torches, a baseball bat, a shovel, a couple of different guns... all the tools of the hunting trade, neatly laid out for quick access. Plus an EMT-grade first-aid kit, because you never know.

Steve's appreciation showed in his eyes, the same surprised approval he showed when Kono leaped between buildings to land on a suspect or brought out her sniper rifle so they wouldn't have to call SWAT. When he turned that look on Danny, though, there was an unmistakeable heat in the twist of his smile, the too-casual cant of his hips.

“You gave me shit about that grenade for _weeks_ ,” Steve said, just a beat too late.

Danny grinned at Steve, at all three of them. This was already the best day he'd had since he'd first set foot in Honolulu airport – and depending how his evening went, he could see it making the top three of his whole damn life.

“So guys,” Danny said, “you're about to see something that will _blow your mind_. Don't wanna spoil it for you, but before we go in, you're gonna need some rock salt shells for those very fine shotguns.”

**Author's Note:**

> The cleaned-up version of my contribution to Leupagus's [inverted prompt request party... thing](http://leupagus.livejournal.com/88831.html?thread=3109375#t3109375).
> 
> Concrit welcome and encouraged!


End file.
